Endurance
by Ombree
Summary: Collection of short works set in alternate universes (AU) with mature themes, and ratings.
1. Unwavering

x.x.x.x  
Title: Unwavering  
Prompt: Her head is on his chest when she wakes to the familiar click of his lighter. For a moment, the smoke he exhales hides his face. She wonders if one day, when the smoke dissipates, he'll be gone along with it. He coughs and takes another drag while running a shaky hand through her bare back. That's smoker's cough, she wants to say. She sees the fresh puncture marks on his arm and the empty syringes on the nightstand. She could go on about his unhealthy lifestyle but she isn't here to be his doctor. That's the last thing he wants. So she sits up and looks at his glazed eyes. "Sasuke, talk to me," she almost begs. Nights are the worst. Sakura struggles to compete with his demons.  
Idea: Anonymous on Tumblr  
Note: I am actually a smoker. I smoke menthol's which are actually way worse for you than regular shorts, and so I am all too familiar with smokers cough. It's not fun during the winter, and is probably the only reason I could describe briefly what it like. The change of season has made me have it currently. Also. I have no clue how we got to where we are. Mature theme became _very mature_ and ended up probably more mature than you were wanting and for that my bad, but this is what flew out and this is what came of it.

* * *

She doesn't want to hear the silence or dead words that come from him in this one bedroom apartment. There's his movements when he's dragging his hand from above his head to run beside him. The inhale she can hear with her head laying over his long since closed off heart lets her hear the tell tale signs of it's users continued abuse. The doctor she is knows what this is. The increased heart rate is all too familiar to those who see it as often as she does— _was he not the reason she had sought a career in the medical field?_

The glow from moon that dares to peek through is all that assists her eyes still worn from the sleep she had been pulled from. He had always been pale and it's that same glow upon his skin that allows her to see more of the abuse he's put upon his body. Fingers twitch slightly with him bringing a cigarette to his mouth having found the open pack beside him. The flick of the lighter sends it's own orange warm glow upon him and her. There's harm in seeing how dazed those obsidian are. The lift of his chest comes with the inhale he takes—it's deep and long within his drag.

 _Blood still stained when the sheets were washed, and he's still dead when he's finished the bottle_.

That glazed over look disappears within the smoke he exhales. There's the smallest of fear that he'll disappear one day when it dissipates. She's lost the ability to smell the nicotine with how long she's stood beside him. She's lost the ability to feel uncomfortable with this lifestyle of his. There had always been concern though. There would always be concern.

 _After all sex doesn't sleep when the lights are off_.

Fingers trail upon his chest sliding down his stomach in hearing the fluid within his lungs with every breath. The clearing of his lungs fill her hears. It's not harsh but it's obvious—smokers cough—he's developed such a thing within all these years. It doesn't halt his fingers in bringing the cigarette back to his mouth and inhaling the nicotine, if possibly, deeper. The moon is no friend in it's glow allowing her to see the small puncture wound that linger within the joint of his arm. There's harm in seeing those marks that he's self-inflicted—there's the flicker of her eyes from him to the nightstand where the empty syringe sits. The tickle that comes with his fingers sliding along her spin causes a stiff noise to fall from her.

He's comforting her within his drugged daze— _he doesn't think she's that stupid does he_?

The doctor she is could list all of the affects of his lifestyle. She could tell him the damage he's doing. She could tell him the harm he's bringing to himself, but she won't. He doesn't need Doctor Haruno—he needs Sakura Haruno, the girl who continued to stay beside him even in his worst states. He wants the little girl who never backed down even in childhood, and he wants the little girl who would blush. He wants that little girl who's crush had developed through middle school, and then high school. He wants the little girl who pushed herself through college and never once wavered from him. He wants the little girl who filled her world with him regardless of who came and went. He wanted the stability that she encompassed— _she would not leave like so many others had done_.

She's pulling herself from him allowing the blanket to slide down her form. She's bare and there's no shame in this—she's always been bare to him in more than one way. There's the slowest movement of those eyes so dazed within his high. He's slow to notice her raising form. They've done this dance before. The demon's that haunt him are always there. The pain that lingers in every action he does is there within the setting of the sun. The night is no friend— _just like the moon_.

It's the next drag and the smoke that flows after from him filling the air around them that has her moving unconsciously to produce fingers within his hair and touch his cheek.

Lips form all the pain she feels in seeing him like this, "Sasuke-kun— _talk to me_."

She could never compete with his demons. She never held a chance. She never held a victory. She's lost every single time, and yet she's unwavering in her love for this man so lost within his heart. She would take every demon that flickered within his mental state. She would take every piece and every part of him upon her shoulders so small and fragile— _if only he could be spared from this world he lived in_.

The words she remembers within her psychology courses are an echo within the room. He will either step forward into growth, or step back within the safety he's build with syringes and bottles. She'd inject herself if it would keep him from doing so. She would lick every drop if it would keep him from doing so. She would swallow every pill if it would keep him from doing so.

The pain that comes with loving a man so lost is not something others can understand, and she knows this is her pain to bare behind these closed doors. This is not something she will share when she leaves in the morning to return to the world so much brighter and cleaner.

Those eyes only continue their stare upon the ceiling as he puts out the cigarette within an empty can upon the nightstand. She's going to lose tonight as well. He won't talk—even before the addictions he had never been one for talking. The sting of tears threatening to shed come over her. He doesn't need tears. He needs the little girl who smiled through all that he did.

Swinging her leg over him she's placed herself upon his uncovered form sitting upon his pelvis. He's warm from this high he's thick within. This small action of hers is still not able to bring his eyes to her. It only brings fingers that trail upon her stomach and slide up her form. That grip upon her comes next. He's trying to feel her through the haze his mind is muddled with. It's a desperate action meant to solidify within these demons that she's still here—she's still standing beside him _forever_.

This battle and this dance is one and the same. The demons that keep their hold on him are weak in this moment here because there's attempt and there's still that little boy that held her hand—through his mother's funeral, held her hand through his father's suicide, held her hand through his brother's arrest and conviction—somewhere within the drugs, pain, and overwhelming sadness.

There's still the boy she had always _loved_.  
There's still the boy that she had always _cherished_.

She's pressing herself against him as she comes to lay on him running her fingers through his hair once more. She's not going to win this. She never wins after all, but she'll take the weakened state of that which holds him forever at arms length. Noses brush and fingers tighten their hold under her small bust. Inhales are exchanged—he's earthly with a spice only able to be described as cinnamon, and then there's that bitter nicotine smell that comes from him—and she's entirely vanilla and sugary laced in floral flowers they couldn't even name. There's no missing him inhaling her deeply with the rise of his chest and those dazed eyes falling closed to grind into her. Strands far softer than they had ever looked are what her fingers have sought as she lingers so close to his face. Brushing his hair follows this movements and then there's his lips seeking hers.

" _Talk to me, please_." she's whimpering within his slow kisses to the corner of her mouth.

A noise falls from her as his fingers make their way to cup her bottom and then he's rolling her under him. His arms lay beside her and those tears that had long since sat waiting to fall have finally found their chance to slide down the corners of her face. The bite of her lip comes and those obsidian are keeping their attention to her pale green finally.

" _Please_." she's begging within a whisper caught within her throat.

He dips his head and then the pressure of his mouth to hers. The bitter taste of nicotine is thicker upon his tongue sliding into hers, and his arm is removing itself from beside her head seeking to trail down her chest passed her stomach and to her leg to give him access to her.

" _Sakura_." he's groaning into her mouth, and he's rubbing her thigh, "Can I?"

The tremble of her lip follows and does little to hide the shake of her voice, " _Always_."

The intake of air she has sucked within and the moan that slips passed her is deep and laced in her tears. His thumbs have come to wipe the tears from her with more light kisses to follow upon her cheeks, and nose. He's deep inside her, and while his pace is normal—it's not rushed, and it's not slowed—there's an urgency.

"Don't cry, _please_." he's pleading within the brush of his nose to hers, " _Please_ , _don't_."

He's hitting deeper and she's crying out at the feeling of him so close to her. She's lost this battle just as she has known she would. He would not speak of the things that lingered and haunted him within the night. She would not be what he wanted when the demon's came to play. She would not be what he wanted when he swallowed his next pill. She would not be what he wanted when he downed the next bottle. She would not be what he wanted when he punctured his skin with his next needle.

The lick across her neck is what makes her heartbeat against her ribcage painfully, and her arms come to wrap around his neck. He's pulling her hair with his need to get more of her neck. It's painful, and yet so sugary sweet—just like them.

 _Blood still stains when the sheets are washed_. _Sex doesn't sleep when the lights are off_. _  
He's still dead when he's finished the bottle._

The sound of skin against skin bounces from this apartment of one bedroom. Her cries, and moans overwhelm his own grunts, and groans. Those eyes are still fogged but they're gaining their clarity within his repeated thrusts, and repeated displays of affection. It's a touch to her breast, a lingering upon her stomach, the cupping of her thigh to bring her closer with each attempt to push himself deeper inside her, and the kisses that fall upon her closed lids.

There's no preparation when he's pulling from her and placing her leg upon his shoulder. Those eyes are drinking her in, and his free hand is running across her dewy skin. His motions have finally given into that hiding urgency she knew lingered within him. His motions have become rushed and desperation hangs upon every thrust and touch he gives.

He's addicted to so many things—and then there's the wide doe-eyes as she throws her head back. He didn't need a doctor. He didn't need Doctor Haruno—no he needed the little girl who had been the only constant bright spot in his world. He needed the little girl turned woman who allowed him to cling to her in the most unforgiving of ways.

The look of pain crosses his face with brows pinched as he does not allow her to come down from the euphoric high he's given her. Those pale green glow within the moon so unfriendly, and so unkind.

He's _addicted_ to her— _and he hates himself for it_ —that's _why_ he won't talk to _her_.

Her own look of pain flashes across her face at the realization within her now fogged mind. This is why his eyes would not clear the glaze that had settled over him. This is why he would forever stay dazed within the night. There's no stopping the fresh tears that spill from the corners of her eyes within her pants, and there's no stopping the call of her voice, "Hug me, _please_."

Brows pinch deeper as he curls to her keeping her leg over his shoulder. He is soaked within desperation to give her what she's asked for.

She's the only constant and unwavering force. He's become addicted to that little girl who never walked away. He's become dependent on the hand that holds his.

Forehead to forehead is how they are as he continues to become rougher and his voice hits her face in panicked and urgent breaths. Those eyes so dazed and fogged refuse to leave her own, and her moans of his name mix with the sharp intakes of air he's taking. He's going harder into, and she's threading her fingers within that hair so unbelievably soft.

There's still the boy she had always _loved_. There's still the boy that she had always _cherished_. There's still the little boy who had _squeezed_ her hand when tears had threatened to spill at his mother's funeral. There's still the little boy who had _clung_ to her within his room and laced their fingers together after his father's suicide. There's still the little boy who had _gripped_ her hand in it's vice like grip as he watched them take his brother to prison.

There's still the little boy she loved here as his hand _presses_ hers to the mattress.  
There's still that same little boy even if he's _turned_ into a man.

He's here and he's crying over her as he hits his own euphoric high. The noise that comes with it is laced in those tears that he had dared not voice within his groans.

—and those tears are still present as he rides out his high deep within her, " _Sakura_."

 _Can I?_

She can hear the question within his gasps, and within the drip of his tears upon her skin, " _Always_."


	2. Too Good

x.x.x  
Title: Too Good  
Prompt: my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he's coming to the next holiday party and don't worry he's heard all about me too and ALSO there's this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude's got a good dick AU  
Note: I've literally been saving this prompt since like September of last year. The first time I saw it I just fuckin knew I had to do it at some point.

You can thank kingofthesharingan and my annual NSFW Monday too because Monday sucks so why not make it a day to look forward too.

* * *

Chilled air, and puffs of white coat everything in sight. Her hands are gloved but that doesn't stop her from rubbing them together to provide herself with more heat. Christmas is around the corner and the company party is even closer. It's her first time attending. Anxious? Absolutely. Scared? Beyond her wildest dreams.

Her seniority with the company wasn't high. Six months she's been employed by Uchiha Corp, and it's been a blessing if anything. Her boss is a lovely woman. When she had been interviewed the woman had held such stiff air about her. Poised. Serious. Collected.

Mikoto Uchiha was anything but stiff, serious—let alone collected. They couldn't be further from the truth. Now as for poised? Absolutely. The woman had some serious elegance to her. It made it perfectly clear that she had been breed for such things. She can't help but look up to this woman who had so much on her plate, and still managed to be kind, charismatic, and loving.

What she hadn't expected though was how much her boss had begun to push. What was her boss pushing? How perfect her son was for her. There's a burn upon her ears. Every time she brings this boy up she can't help but feel embarrassed. There's no doubt that Mikoto had probably raised a wonderful son— _but she's not entirely sure about anyone born with a silver spoon in_ _their_ _mouth_.

That's not even bringing for the possible conflict of interest that lies in such relationships.  
She likes her job. The last thing she needs is for it to be ripped out from under her all over some rich kid who may or may not be attractive.

She's not doubting Mikoto's genes—but she just can't help but be skeptical.  
 _There is such a thing as too good to be true_.

The commute home isn't long and the only positive is the subway is heated. The rock of the train car isn't bad. It's become a part of her daily life, and while at first she had struggled when she moved her it's barely even felt. All she knows is she needs a good night rest before she attends this company party—and meets this all too talked about son.

There's a thick swallow and a groan as she remembers her bosses teasing. She had supposedly spoken just as much about her to him as well. There's no way he wasn't dreading this as much as herself. Hopefully. Okay. So, she's not so sure. She's heard a lot but that doesn't mean she knows anything about this kid outside of the boasts coming from an obviously proud mother.

A groan escapes her lips as she peels her heels off her feet and leaves them scattered about in the entry way. Her bag hits the floor not far behind as she seeks to get herself relaxed and comfortable. Swapping from suit to a night shirt she's dug from the bottom drawer is easily done. A bowl of ice cream, and some television is just the right combination to washing away the office tension from her shoulders.

A hum, and a flicker through channels as she lays upon the couch as unladylike as possible. If only her boss could see her now. Yeah—her boss has probably painted her as so much more than she really was. Fingers roll through her hair before swiping her phone right off coffee table. That thought right there has brought back the tension in full force. Groaning is all she can do as she flips through the screen.

Swinging her leg over the other she can't stop the habitual light motion that follows. There's always one way to get herself relaxed and she's not afraid to use it. Puffing her cheeks she's tapping away at the keyboard. The individual she's texting would most likely fall into the category of a one night stand. It had been just the fix she had needed months ago. Work was at an all time high in the stress department had the time and one thing lead to another—she had ended up in a bar for a quick drink before heading home when _he_ had run into her at the counter.

No names exchanged. Just clothes hitting the floor and him pressing her against her bed. Her mother taught her better sure, but sometimes a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. It had been exciting. Sloppy, and intoxicated, as well, but exciting nonetheless. Humming is all she can do as she thinks back to that moment. They hadn't met back up since that first time. They still refrained from exchanging names, but what they did exchange was numbers. Once in a while she'll shoot him a text requesting a simple picture because that's what gets her through the stress at work anymore.

She says it's simple, but never in her wildest dreams would she had thought this boy would comply.  
—and he does every single time. _No questions asked_.

It's an odd little arrangement, if she's being honest, considering the lack of personal information, but she's not complaining. It keeps things from being messy and god knows she'll probably never run into him again unless they set it up. All of this is good enough for her.

So when her phone goes off there's the smallest of smiles spreading across his face. It had been more than good and maybe that's what had pushed her to ask for it the first time, and the time after that— _and that's whats gotten her brazen enough to ask for it whenever she's needing some alone time_.

Dick pics weren't exactly something she was notorious for requesting.  
— _but she'd be damned if she didn't ask him for one once in a while_.

That quick look over and she's feeling warm. It's not hard to just think of the way his hands had gone over her skin, or how his breath had been right against her ear before he made his way down. Sliding his fingers upon her stomach and then wrapping around the around the band of her panties he had tugged them up at first which she hadn't been prepared for, and then in only another moment—a second—she could feel his tongue going over the fabric and against where she wanted him most. The tug upon them had her hips lifting to give him an easier time to remove them. Lips against her thigh and the way he slid them down her legs had her panting.

He hadn't been shy when he had thrown them behind him and across the room. All of this is vivid and she's already accepted it'll be a long time coming before she'll stop using that one night as her primary masturbation material. That's all she has to tell herself when she's dipped her own hand underneath her panties.

Her fingers can't possibly replicate the way his tongue had dipped in between her folds, nor could they give the exact same feeling that came with he had slid it over her clit. It'll do though—she doesn't need much. The buck of her hips is all too remembered. He had slide his hands up her sides and pressed his hands flat against her pelvis to keep her steady as he continue to have his fill of her.

Her neck stretches back letting her head roll against the couch cushion. Lips open and a moan escapes her as she starts with one finger working herself slow and evenly. It wasn't as frenzied as he had been. Starved is what she would of considered him in that moment. Sliding her tongue against the roof of her mouth is barely noted as she takes another glance upon the requested picture of the night.

It's got her hot and ready as she thinks of how it had slide inside of her. That first initial penetration was always the most satisfying. Filling her up, and with her leg draped over his shoulder. He wasn't loud but those hot breaths back upon her skin had been more than enough. He spoke on grunts and the occasional groan as he started out slow.

Adding another finger doesn't do him justice but she, just as with everything else, had accepted she would never be able to replicate the way he had felt. None of that stops her from enjoying what she's doing to herself nonetheless. When she quickens her fingers pace she's arching and letting out hot breaths. She's enjoying herself far too much— _thank god for this man and his dick pictures_.

The release she feels is bittersweet to a point. It's explosive because she's picturing him slamming into her and nibbling upon her ear, and then it's over all too soon. The way she rolls her head back as she rides it out reminds her briefly of the fact her fingers are much too small compared to him literally filling her up and stretching her up. That thought right there has her riding it out longer before settling her hips down upon the couch.

Catching her breath she brings her hand from out of her underwear and swings herself forward. Clean up is quick and simple, and damn does she feel better. Who cares about the company party? She got off and that's all she cares about in this moment before shutting the lights out and nestling into bed.

The next day isn't bad. A shower, brushed teeth, and a small look within the mirror has her ready for whatever happens. All she's gotta do is politely reject whoever her bosses son is. This little arrangement of hers is more than enough.

Heels click against the office floor and the filing of her paperwork is for the most part easily accomplished even if their filing system needs some serious work. The occasional glance over her wrist watch comes as the clock ticks closer and closer to the company party.

The press of her finger hitting the final punch upon her time card for the week is oddly satisfying, and so as she follows behind others to one of their many large meeting spaces she can't help but feel like all that anxiety had been for nothing. Scared? What's there to be scared of?

Mingling is easy. She gets along with most of her coworkers and thankfully she's yet to run into her boss let alone her son. The foods decent, and the drinks refreshing. She'd never drink heavily in front of her coworkers so she goes for the simple things like hard cider and sipping on water.

Just as she's locked in a conversation with a boy of obsidian hair and one of the biggest smiles she's ever seen fingers have made their way upon her shoulder. The turn of her head comes and there's no surprise to be had when it's her boss.

Smiling is easy especially with a woman like Mikoto before you. She brightened a room, and the smile she's always got upon her own lips is contagious.

"Ah, Sakura-san I've been looking for you everywhere." there's the smallest of laughs and then a step back from her as she seeks to introduce someone behind her—no doubt the son.

"Sorry I hadn't seen you with there being so many of us." the smile she has is genuine and then as her eyes move see this highly praised son does it start to slip from her lips.

One moment, and then two. They're just starting at each other—and for the love of god tell her she's just seeing things. Tell her that this man before her isn't the same man from months ago. Tell her that she's lost her mind and that she's obviously seeing things.

Those lips of his are tilting upon the corners and then there's the hooding of his eyes as they trail from her feet up to her eyes once again. He's analyzing her as much as she is him—perhaps he doesn't remember her. Maybe, _just maybe_ , she's the only one recognizing the situation at hand.

If you had told her, her one night stand would have been with her bosses son she would of laughed in your face.

Equally though if you had told her she'd been requesting dick pics from her bosses soon she would told you that only happened in those romance novels she had loved in college.

The swallow she makes is thick. Uncomfortable doesn't even begin to describe this feeling in her chest.

"Sakura-san, are you okay?" there's concern etched within the question.

Flickering her eyes from one pair of obsidian to the other and she's plastering the fakest of customer service smiles upon her face. Working at a Starbucks part-time had served her well for moments like this.

"I'm perfectly fine." she gives a nod of her head and then sets her eyes back upon this man she had literally just the night before masturbated to.

Those lips are shifting into the truest of smirks. He's not letting it just rest upon the corners. His shoes are firm with each step and then with an ease and grace she can't remember him having outside of the rough and exciting moments in bed so many months ago does he grab her hand and bring it up to his lips.

Her cheeks are warm and she wants to bury herself right here and right now. Anywhere but here would be an absolute blessing—but that's not an option because god literally seems to be enjoying himself with this little stunt.

"My mother's told me so much about you, Haruno Sakura-san." he hasn't let go of her hand, and he's not released her eyes either.

There's a hesitation and then the forceful removal of her eyes as her fingers grip upon her pencil skirt. If the earth would please just open up right here, and right now that would be amazing. She's not asking for a lot. Just a simple miracle in which she's swallowed whole—and not exactly like she had been months ago by this man staring so smitten down at her.

" _Likewise, Uchiha Sasuke-san._ "


End file.
